“Love you, too, Mom.” He ended the call and picked up his groceries to continue walking toward the house.

Sophie was pushing the mower and Biyen was raking. He waved at Logan and Logan waved back.

What kind of person would Biyen be if Logan had been his father, Logan couldn’t help wondering. What kind of life would they all have?

The question hit him with a lash of shame. There was nothing wrong with this life Sophie and Biyen were living. Its location in untouched rainforest made it pretty damned special, but it was modest. If Sophie had come with him when she’d wanted to, would he have still gone to Italy? Would she have become one of those rich, high-maintenance wives he’d met on Florida’s party circuit, the ones with fake boobs and fake nails?

He couldn’t see it. And kids? He had never wanted any. Would she have buckled to his wishes? Because she was a great mom. He had no doubt she’d been through hard times as a single, working parent, but he could tell she wouldn’t trade Biyen for anything. Not even a life with him.

That caused a weird pang inside him. He ought to be thinking he’d done her a favor, but he felt pushed out. Unnecessary and forgotten.

As he should be. He’d been deeply self-involved when he had come back to help Glenda leave Wilf. Reid and Trystan hadn’t been here. His mother hadn’t asked for help from any of them and none had wanted to see their dad. Logan had barely spoken to him, mostly showing up as a giant fuck-you to his old man.

But there had been Sophie, stepping out of the gangly teenager she’d been and into the confidence of young adulthood. She’d been starry-eyed for her future, funny as ever, and just as quick to build up his ego.

He was three years older than her. At the time, that might as well have been decades. When she had asked him to be her first, he should have said no. He had rationalized it as a favor to a friend. Who else would be so careful with her? Who else would stop if she changed her mind?

Who else would he want it to be?

No one. He wanted it to be him.

He really was a selfish prick exactly like his father. He had definitely suffered the same delusion that sex didn’t have consequences. That it didn’t mean anything if you didn’t want it to.

Maybe it didn’t. Maybe he was still full of himself, thinking Sophie becoming pregnant right after he left had something to do with him. He didn’t slut-shame. She’d been a very passionate person. He had left days after their affair started. He had no right to feel kicked in the gut by her moving on to someone else so quickly.

She obviously still blamed him to some extent, though. Why? He wasn’t the only reason her life had been turned upside down. She had dropped out of school to nurse her sick Mom, then moved back here to look after her grandfather. Those things had nothing to do with him. She had had choices.

Hadn’t she?

He walked into the kitchen to see dinner dishes in the sink. Art was snoring in his recliner. There was a packet of birthday invitations on the kitchen table, waiting to be addressed. When he put the groceries away, he found a wrapped plate of food in the refrigerator with his name written on it in Biyen’s uneven scrawl.

Logan had missed lunch and was starving, but he went to look at the fan in the bathroom first.

*

Perversely, when Logan moved back to the Fraser house to look after Storm, Sophie missed him.

He’d only been here three days. Like at work, they did their best to stay out of each other’s way. They crossed paths in the morning as they all used the bathroom and walked with Biyen into the village. They put in their time, then Logan had a beer with Gramps when he got home, before helping with whatever chores needed doing. After his shower, she listened to his floor creaking overhead. She tried not to think about whether he slept naked when she was in her own bed.

No, it was her son she missed, she insisted to herself. Biyen had left with Nolan this morning, grinning ear to ear over his new sleeping bag with dinosaurs on it.

“They glow in the dark?” He’d been agog with excitement.

Glenda was arriving tomorrow so it wasn’t as though this house would be quiet for long. Sophie ought to be enjoying the peace, but she was lying here awake, mentally running through her day tomorrow. She had to strip and wash Biyen’s sheets before Glenda got here. She would count the canning jars while she was down in the basement. Gramps had been freezing salmon, anticipating they would can it. Maybe Glenda would help with that. Sophie would buy lids tomorrow. Oh. And paint for the porch. Gramps wanted to—

The phone rang, startling her into sitting up.

It wouldn’t be Nolan. There was no service on that side of the island. Not many sailed at night so it wouldn’t be a work call.

On the second ring, she threw off her sheet and padded down to the kitchen, snatching up the landline from its cradle on the wall.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Logan said over a crying Storm. “Can you come over?”

“What? No. Why? I’m in bed.” She folded one bare foot over the other.

“Storm’s sick. I thought she was missing Emma, but she’s hot and threw up her bottle.” She’d never heard him so anxious. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll be right there.” She hung up and got herself into jeans with a long-sleeved shirt, then shook Gramps awake enough to say, “Storm’s sick. I’m going over to help Logan.”

“All right.” He rolled over and probably wouldn’t remember. He was snoring again by the time she found the flashlight and her shoes.

The moon was waning, the sky was clear. She arrived at the house breathless from jogging up the hill.

Logan opened the door before she knocked, obviously watching for her flashlight. He was shirtless, wearing only trackpants hanging low on his hips. His hair was mussed, his cheeks stubbled, his brows glued together with worry.

“Hey, sweet pea,” Sophie said, touching the back of Storm’s neck.

She turned her face away, crying wretchedly into Logan’s shoulder.

“Did you take her temperature?”

“The thermometer is there.” He pointed to the kitchen island. “I didn’t know how to do it.” He grimaced.

“You put it in her armpit.”

“Oh shit. Yeah, I thought I had to—This is why I called you.”

She hid her smile at how discomfited he was and set her box of supplies on the counter. It was full of all the things she reached for when Biyen was sick, but Emma was equally prepared. There was already a plastic tub with a thermometer and teething gel along with a bottle of infant Tylenol and a dosing syringe.

Logan shifted Storm so he could tug open the snaps of her sleeper and bared her arm. She wasn’t having it. She cried even harder when he gently pinned her arm down for the minute the thermometer needed to get its reading.

It finally beeped and Sophie read, “A smidge over one hundred. Let’s see if this brings it down.” She gave the grape flavored medication a shake, then read the dosage schedule. “How much does she weigh?”

They double-checked the concentration and each other’s math, finally squirting a small measure of the syrup into Storm’s mouth.

She stopped crying as she decided whether she liked the taste or not, then fell back onto Logan, crying it out again.

“Let’s get a damp cloth and cool her off a little. Oh! Em has Popsicles for the kids, doesn’t she?” They had all had one the other night. Sophie opened the freezer. “They’re not ideal for rehydration, but it might calm her down and cool her off.”

It helped. Storm knew exactly what it was and reached for Sophie when she saw it.

“Do you mind holding her?” Logan asked. “I still smell like barf and have to clean her crib.”

“Of course. Come on, pumpkin.” Sophie carried her to the couch and sat with Storm sniffling in her lap. Storm kept one hand on Sophie’s to keep the orange Popsicle against her unhappy mouth.

Logan went up the stairs, then came back a few minutes later to carry a basket down to the basement. He returned wearing a blue T-shirt and brought a damp cloth.